Light in the Darkness
by Fordgirl
Summary: *Complete!* E/C, but with a major twist...Please R
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom; I'm just a humble phan. Although, I wish that I owned Erik, but that's beside the point. *Sigh*  
  
Author's Notes: I've been reading phanfics for months now, and I have finally decided to try to write my own. I hope you enjoy it, even if it's a first effort.  
  
Feedback: Please! (I need to know if I'm even in the ballpark.:)  
  
*Erik's POV*  
  
My eyes slowly flickered open; the dense haze that surrounded me slowly dissipated and I stared up into the darkness. I lay there motionless, vulnerable, and it scared me. That seemed quite ironic. My life had been a twisted jumble of pain and torment, but yet, I had never felt this fear before, and I didn't even know the source of my trepidation. Something was terribly wrong; I could sense it. Instinctively, I sat up.  
  
That proved to be a very bad idea.  
  
My head erupted into a fiery agony; I could hear the cacophony of my mind throbbing. An exquisite symphony of vibrant pain - at another time I would have found that intriguing, but now, I could do nothing but slowly lay back on my pillows. As I moved, I could feel a bandage wrapped tightly around my ribs, the rest of my chest bare against the cool, slippery satin of the sheets.  
  
That's when it hit me. I was in a bed, not my coffin. More than that, as I glanced to my left, I could see an impressive armoire - her armoire - and I knew, I was in her room.  
  
It seemed thoroughly impossible; since that fateful day when I set her free two months ago I had avoided this room with a cold dread. Sometimes, in the beginning, when I felt especially daring and emboldened, I would walk up to the door, resting my head against the oak paneling, listening for her voice - her song. It always ended the same way - more tears and more pain. No cold, inanimate door and the promise of the shrine that lay behind it could fill the void she had left in my heart. Eventually, I learned to stay away, to let my love lay enshrined behind that door as the pain consumed me. Even I can only take so much.  
  
Now, now I was in her room, in her bed, injured and weak. It dawned on me slowly, silently, if I was here, and my wounds were dressed, someone else had been responsible for it. I felt utterly helpless, completely powerless; I didn't know what to think. True, I was hurt, but I was safe, cared for, even. My mind was slowly being consumed by the same intense pain I had felt before, and I squeezed my eyes tightly closed. It was too much for me all at once, and a choked sob escaped my lips, tears flowed freely from my eyes.  
  
I heard a small noise from across the room, the soft bustle of fabric and the quiet patter of soft, feminine footsteps. A smooth, trembling hand brushed against the exposed portion of my forehead. A small whisper came tumbling down from Heaven, and an angel called my name, "Erik."  
  
Steeling my resolve against the pain, I opened my eyes, and looked up at a miracle.  
  
I tried to speak, but my voice, for once, failed me. She saw my distress, and she gently ran her hand down my cheek, until her soft fingers covered my lips. Suddenly, with her touch, the pain seemed a distant memory.  
  
"It's alright, Erik," she said in the same concerned whisper, "you were injured, but you're going to be okay. You simply need to rest; I promise I won't leave you while you sleep. I will explain everything when you wake."  
  
I nodded feebly, staring up in awe and shock. Impulsively, it seemed, she sat next to me and took my hand, and speaking in a tremulous voice, she added, "You need to get better. . .for me. Please rest."  
  
Feeling suddenly empowered, I spoke, the words coming with great effort, "For you, the world, Christine."  
  
She smiled a small, tired smile, "I know, Erik, but you need to rest for me. . ."  
  
Understanding, I closed my eyes, and allowed Morpheus to weave his wonderful spell over my weary senses. Sleep came quickly, and in my dreams, Christine invaded my dreams.  
  
To be continued. . .the next chapter will clarify this one, and provide more insight into the background. 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom; I'm just a phan. I still wish that I owned Erik, though. . .*Sigh*  
  
Author's Note: Thanks to all those who have reviewed so far, you guys are what inspire me to write more. Anyway, this chapter will shed some light on Chapter 1, and hopefully, raise many more of it's own.  
  
Feedback: Please! (keep up the good work people! :)  
  
*Christine's POV*  
  
He looked so weak, just lying there; prone. It made me want to cry, I wanted nothing more in that moment than to take all his pain away for once and for all. Of course, that was impossible. He had been hurt far too deeply for my good intentions to efface all the suffering he had endured.  
  
I walked back over to the bed - my bed - and I fell to my knees, seizing his hand in my own and sobbing. I prayed, I prayed more fervently than I ever had before, for God to spare my angel, to let him come back to me now that I had found him again. I prayed for forgiveness, because I knew that the whole mess was my fault. When I had finished, I opened my eyes, only to find him still unconscious.  
  
I stood, and resumed my silent vigil, my thoughts drifting back to a few hours ago, when my life had changed forever.  
  
***Flashback***  
  
I ran on instinct; I ran in fear. I didn't know where I was going, but it didn't really matter: my life lost its direction two months ago when Erik made me leave him.  
  
I ran because the pretenses w ere all that held Raoul and I together. Certainly, he had charmed me, but he had preyed on my weakness, he had used my fear and indecision to make me believe that our love was real. Now, free of my fear, I could see clearly. Raoul had freed me, but not from Erik. He had freed me of my fear and indecision; he had allowed me to see beyond my doubts.  
  
I loved Erik.  
  
It was deceivingly simple, actually. Of course, nothing was truly simple anymore. Erik had loved me so much that I had become lost in his emotions, and my own. With time and distance, it all became clear: we were destiny, we were meant to be. Without his voice, his quiet presence - without him - I was nothing. Raoul gave me every material possession I could have ever wanted, but I was dying on the inside. He wrapped me up in furs, and covered me in jewels and gold; it was only then that I found the true meaning of living within a façade.  
  
Eventually, I couldn't take it anymore. I didn't hate Raoul, actually, I loved him - as a friend, a brother. I told him everything, I told him that I couldn't marry him; I told him how I felt and what I thought. Suffice it to say, he didn't take it too well.  
  
Raoul didn't hurt me physically; he hurt me deeper than any injury ever could. After I had finished explaining, he sat silently for a long moment, his head in his hands. Finally, he stood up, an intense fire burning in his eyes.  
  
"You will be mine," he hissed, grabbing my arms and pulling me tightly against him, "even if I have to destroy your 'angel' to get you to myself." With that, he let me go, and simply walked out of my house. I suddenly felt faint, I was filled with a primal fear, not knowing what else I could do; I ran.  
  
***End Flashback***  
  
As my eyes opened, I stared out into the darkness that filled my room and walked over to light a candle. As I struck the match, and held the newborn flame to the first candle in the ornate candelabra by the door, I heard a bitter weeping coming from the other side of the room. Hurriedly, I rushed to his side, reaching out to touch his forehead. His fever had broken. "Erik. . ." I whispered, my voice heavy with relief.  
  
He tried to speak, but he was too weak, and he could not. He seemed upset by that, and I moved my hand down his cheek, until my fingers covered his soft lips. Suddenly, he seemed relieved, as if my touch had cured him.  
  
"It's alright, Erik," I whispered, "you were injured, but you're going to be okay. You simply need to rest; I promise I won't leave you while you sleep. I will explain everything when you wake."  
  
He nodded feebly, staring up at me in shock. Impulsively, I sat next to him and took his hand, and speaking in a tremulous voice, I added, "You need to get better. . .for me. Please rest."  
  
His eyes lit up, and he spoke, the words coming with great effort, "For you, the world, Christine."  
  
I smiled, feeling my heart swell, and gently, I said, "I know, Erik, but you need to rest for me. . ."  
  
He sighed contentedly, and his eyes closed slowly. In a few minutes I heard his breathing deepen, and I knew he was asleep. I sat there, his hand still in mine. I had no will to leave his side, but, more importantly, I didn't want to. I watched him sleep; his chest rising slowly as he inhaled from underneath shiny satin. He was smiling, and I grinned. His dreams must have been sweet, indeed.  
  
My dreams, however, were nothing so certain. Erik was my light, even if he believed himself to be nothing but darkness, he shone for me like the stars of the night sky. I wanted nothing more than to be with him, but, again, it wasn't that simple.  
  
***Flashback***  
  
I continued to run, bumping into pedestrians, who screamed at me, and shot me angry looks. I didn't care, they didn't matter at the time. I didn't stop until I stood before the Paris Opera House. It was cold, and snowflakes were beginning to fall in the fading evening light. I stood, staring up at the building before me, a white aura beginning to cling to my black velvet cloak. Knowing that I had found my way home, I ran towards the Rue Scribe entrance. When I got there, the door was already ajar. . .  
  
***End Flashback***  
  
I placed my free hand on Erik's unmasked cheek, and knowing he would recover, I drifted off to sleep, understanding that in the morning, I would have to tell him everything. For now, though, there was quiet and I found peace in my dreams. . .with my angel.  
  
To be continued. . . 


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own the Phantom of the Opera. Well, actually, 'sadly' applies to everything but Raoul. . .I'm actually quite happy that I don't own him. ;)  
  
Author's Note: Thanks again to all my reviewers. I hope you all enjoy this chapter. Keep up the good work, people!  
  
To M~ This chapter is longer, and, rest assured, there is much more coming!  
  
Archiving: Sure, why not? Just give me a heads up first.  
  
*Christine's POV*  
  
I opened my eyes, only to be greeted by the sight of Erik staring back at me, his eyes intensely emotional even when clouded with the trauma of the past night's debacle. Sometimes, I think that there is nothing about Erik that *isn't* intense; it's simply part of his mystique; just one of the many reasons I love him.  
  
His hand was still tightly clutched in mine, and I smiled. For the first time in two months, I was genuinely happy. Erik smiled back weakly - it was so easy to forget that he was hurt; the man simply radiates a quiet, irrevocable strength - squeezing his hand in mine as if to confirm that I was real. Once satisfied that he wasn't dreaming, his smile grew, and he whispered, "Good morning, Christine."  
  
"Erik," I replied, quietly running my fingers through his hair, "how do you feel?"  
  
"Well, now that you're here, I'm much better," he said dreamily, closing his eyes slowly.  
  
I laughed a small laugh, and then, realizing the gravity of the situation, I added, "Erik, I'm serious, how do you feel?"  
  
He opened his eyes, and lifted a hand to rest against my cheek; it was quite clear that he was trying not to hurt me. "Erik," I said insistently, "please tell me the truth."  
  
He sighed, and, in resignation, he said, "I have a terrible headache, my side feels like it's on fire and I'm very weak, as I guess you can tell. It's all right, though, Christine. I've had much worse without you here beside me; without something to live for."  
  
I felt tears forming in the corners of my eyes, and I looked away from him. His life - his existence - had been truly unspeakable. In that moment, my love burgeoned in my heart, and I felt as if I was going to faint. It was too much all at once, but through it all, I knew that if I could bring him some happiness, I would. Of course, if happiness for him was a life with me, it would be a wonderful life for me, too.  
  
Erik, however, had no intentions of letting me cry on his account. I assume that he's shed enough tears not to need mine on his account. The Phantom of the Opera may be invincible, but my Erik is just a man, as fallible as any other. "Oh, Christine, don't cry, please, you mustn't be sad. . ."  
  
I turned back to face him, and I marveled at the concern in his eyes. He was lying there with wounds he most likely couldn't remember receiving, and he was more worried about me and a few freshly shed tears. "Erik. . ." I whispered, "I'm sorry if I've upset you, I never want to hurt you again."  
  
"You came back to me," he said shakily, the emotions of the past months clear in his voice, "and that has made me happier than you could ever imagine. You haven't upset me or hurt me in the least, I assure you."  
  
I sighed; it was quite evident that he didn't remember a thing about last night.  
  
"What's wrong?" he asked perceptively, stirring slightly as he spoke.  
  
"I have to tell you, about last night; about what happened to you. . ." I said softly, dreading his reaction to the words that would soon come, like thieves in the night, to try and steal away my newfound happiness - and his.  
  
***Flashback***  
  
The sounds of a struggle echoed in the darkness as I ran blindly towards Erik's home. I could hear voices, gruff male voices, shouting angry words I couldn't make out from a distance. The one thing I couldn't hear, however, was Erik's voice. . .  
  
I grew frightened, and in my panic, I tripped, tumbling gracelessly to the damp ground. I could feel an intense burning in the palms of my hand as I braced myself against the fall. I stumbled to my feet and as I stood, I could hear the ominous voices coming closer; exalting in some yet unseen triumph. Again, I panicked, and I hid myself away in Erik's eternal night.  
  
***End Flashback***  
  
"Christine," he said reassuringly, snapping me out of my listless thoughts, "whatever happened, I'm still here, with you."  
  
"You don't understand. . ." I sobbed, "it was. . .it was. . ."  
  
"It was what, Christine?" He said gently, wiping away my tears once more.  
  
***Flashback***  
  
As time passed, the indistinct mumbles grew into a boisterous rumbling. There were three of them, and they all sounded like the sort no woman would want to bump into in a darkened subterranean labyrinth. I pressed up against the wall of the small alcove I had taken refuge in, my heart beating rapidly, loudly. I was so terrified they would hear my heartbeat. . .that my days would end right then and there.  
  
As I stood, exiled in my own private purgatory, I heard them approach, I could make out their words. . .  
  
"I swear, this place gives me the creeps. . ."  
  
"Yeah, but de Chagny is paying us damn well for this, so I think we can handle it for a little while longer. . ."  
  
"Do you think he's dead?"  
  
"I'm almost positive that he is. . .he was pretty messed up when we got there, must've been sick or something."  
  
"Maybe we did him a favor, ending his misery. Maybe we just did a good deed on the Vicomte's behalf. . ."  
  
"That girl must be something, huh?"  
  
"Either that, or de Chagny is damned good at holding a grudge."  
  
"For Twenty Thousand Francs, I really don't care what he is, or why he cares. . ."  
  
I felt revulsion rising in my throat, anger burning inside me even as tears of worry formed in my eyes. Erik was definitely hurt, my mind wouldn't allow any further speculation into that; and it was all Raoul's fault - my fault.  
  
The voices were soon standing right beside me, with only a wall between us. The light of their torches fell at my feet, but they kept moving, and I was spared. I heard them moving away, and as soon as I could no longer hear them, I began running frantically towards Erik's house.  
  
***End Flashback***  
  
"It was my fault," I sobbed, as Erik looked at me in complete disbelief, "you almost died and it was entirely my fault."  
  
*Erik's POV*  
  
It was surreal, she was saying she was responsible for my latest bout of suffering; she was saying she had caused me this pain. I didn't know what to think, and after a moment of silence, I could take it no longer, and I pleaded, "Just tell me, Christine."  
  
She took a deep breath, and began to speak, despite the fact she was still trembling from crying, "You see, since you made me leave you, I've been desperate. . .I missed you so much, and I realized I didn't want Raoul. . .I wanted you; I love you."  
  
My eyes grew wide, and I repeated, "You love me?"  
  
"Yes," she nodded, "so much."  
  
I looked at her with great incredulity; even though she was with me, I still hadn't expected her love to be thrown at my feet. I felt the need to say something, even if it was redundant. "I love you, too."  
  
"I know," she said, her voice a choked sob, "but, last night. . ."  
  
"Last night, what? Last night doesn't matter anymore; nothing matters to me but you, you know that."  
  
"But, Erik, Raoul paid those men to attack you, because I told him I was coming back to you; that I loved you. If I hadn't said anything, you wouldn't be."  
  
"I wouldn't be here with you, and that's all I need," I said protectively, "I'll recover from my physical injuries, Christine, but if you hadn't come back to me, I would have died of a broken heart. I would gladly bear a thousand times this suffering to be with you."  
  
She smiled, and put her head down on my chest, carefully avoiding my wounded side. I placed my hand on the top of her head, running my fingers through her hair. She sighed deeply, and looked up at me urgently, "They said that you were sick when they got here, Erik, what did they mean?"  
  
"I told you," I said, avoiding direct eye contact, "I would've died from a broken heart if you hadn't come back."  
  
She sat up immediately, "You had another attack, didn't you?"  
  
"Yes," I admitted, "I did."  
  
"Oh, Erik," she sighed, "maybe we should get Nadir to bring a doctor here, and. . ."  
  
"I have a feeling that I'll be okay from now on, Christine," I said, imploring her to smile with my eyes: she did. Suddenly, something hit me, "Christine, how did you know that those men said I was sick?"  
  
"I was coming back, and when I got to the rue scribe entrance, it was ajar, and I was running towards the house and I heard them coming so I hid, and. . ." she said, the words tumbling out rapid-fire.  
  
"They used the Rue Scribe entrance?" I asked, absorbing all that she had just said, "Then, they might come back at any moment, and. . ."  
  
"They thought they killed you," she said simply.  
  
"Then, you came here thinking I was dead?" I asked, finding that, against all odds, my love for her was actually finding a way to grow.  
  
"Actually, I came here refusing to think that you were dead. Erik, when Raoul finds me missing, he'll eventually figure out where I am, and. . ."  
  
"We'll deal with that when the time comes," I said dismissively, "we'll deal with this together."  
  
To be continued. . . 


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera. Seriously.  
  
Author's Note: I leave for college on the 27th (*crosses fingers and hopes all goes well*) AND my birthday is the 31st, so, suffice it to say, updates shall be quite irregular for a few weeks. Sorry! Anyway, much love and many thanks to those who have reviewed thus far; enjoy!  
  
Feedback: Feedback is addictive, I'll admit, and I thrive on it. Therefore, keep it coming! :)  
  
*Raoul's POV*  
  
I paced anxiously in my study; the three oafs I hired were due to arrive at any time; if, that is, that damned demon hadn't killed them all. It was no big loss if he had, however; there are plenty of fools willing to sell their souls for a few francs in this city.  
  
The telltale knock came suddenly, an affront to my train of thought, if a welcome one. "Come in," I beckoned eagerly rushing towards the door, "do come in!" I suddenly felt like a child in a candy shop, all excitement and no mind for consequences.  
  
They walked in; triumphant. Their clothes were torn, the signs of a fierce struggle. In the dim light, I thought I could see bloodstains, but, there was no way to be certain from a distance. Undaunted, I silently convinced myself my suppositions were accurate.  
  
"It's done," the lead man said, his lips curling into a thin, twisted grin.  
  
"Are you certain?" I said, drumming my fingers against the solid walnut of my desk and staring at him intently. He had the aura of a murderer, which thrilled me and terrified me all at once.  
  
"Nearly positive, Vicomte," the man said confidently, "if he lives, it is by a miracle alone."  
  
"Good," I said, nodding my head feverishly with a broad smile, "excellent work, Messieurs."  
  
"Now, Monsieur, it's time to live up to your end of the bargain," the man said, stepping forward menacingly and greedily extending a hand. He smiled at me; and it send chills down my spine.  
  
"Of course," I said, tossing him a large purse, "you'll find payment in full in that satchel, as dictated by our original agreement."  
  
"A pleasure doing business with you," the man said after counting the colorful bills, "if you need our services again, you know where to find us, Vicomte."  
  
"Certainly," I said, as they walked towards the door, "Goodnight."  
  
As the door closed behind them, I sighed in relief, and sank heavily down onto a chaise. A small laugh escaped my lips - the Phantom was dead, and Christine had nowhere to turn but to me. Tomorrow, I would go to collect my fiancé, but tonight; tonight it was enough to sit and savor my victory over darkness.  
  
*Christine's POV*  
  
"Christine," his voice came from behind me as I stood in the kitchen preparing tea, "you should rest, yourself. You've been fawning over me all day."  
  
I smiled, but didn't turn to face him. Trying to sound indignant, I replied, "Oh, and you haven't enjoyed it?"  
  
"In fact," he said, walking slowly towards me, "I have enjoyed it immensely, but that, my dear, is beside the point."  
  
"I see," I said, turning towards him, "you shouldn't even be out of bed, you know, and yet you're lecturing me on my sleeping habits."  
  
"You seem to forget," he said, smiling, his arms encircling my waist, "I heal quickly, and you've been through quite an ordeal."  
  
"Apparently," I sighed, and he laughed, "But that doesn't mean you should press your luck, Erik. You should rest."  
  
"As you wish," he sighed, releasing me and limping back towards the doorway. I followed him, carrying a tray of his Russian tea. Of course, I wasn't quite sure if I had made it properly, unfamiliar as it was. I had to muffle a laugh as I imagined Erik drinking my adulteration of is tea and feigning enjoyment of it.  
  
When we reached my room, I placed the tray down on my desk and helped him into bed. He leaned back against the pillows, and I retrieved the tray, and set it on the nightstand. I poured him a cup, and handed it to him.  
  
"You need to drink something," I explained simply. He nodded and took the delicate teacup from me. Sipping the liquid within, the exposed portion of his face contorted momentarily, and he took a deep breath before saying, "Thank you, Christine."  
  
*Erik's POV*  
  
I could feel my face contort, and I somehow controlled the reaction before it progressed to all out choking. It was unbelievable that someone could turn tea into, into. . .whatever that was. I inhaled deeply, and said, "Thank you, Christine."  
  
"You don't like it. . ." she sighed.  
  
"No," I protested, against my better judgment, "I do, I truly do! See?" I took another sip, finding it slightly more palpable as I knew what to expect, "It was just hot, that's all."  
  
"Oh," Christine said, smiling in relief. She sat down on the bed beside me, and the words began to tumble out, "I tried to feed Ayesha, but she wouldn't let me come near her. Actually, she almost bit me twice so I just left some food by the door of the study in a little bowl. Also, I tried to clean up a little, because, well, Raoul's 'friends'", her teeth clenched at the mention of his name, "left quite a mess. I didn't get to far in my efforts, though, they did a lot of damage, and it will take sometime to get your house back in order."  
  
"Alright," I said, "so what's really bothering you?"  
  
"Raoul is going to find me missing soon, Erik, and he will know where to look for me. You aren't safe here. . ." She said, concern flashing in her eyes.  
  
"Is that what you think?" I said, taking her hand in mine, and looking her in the eyes confidently, "I can take care of the Vicomte."  
  
"But, what if he sends more thugs?" She asked, slightly comforted, but still distressed.  
  
"I can handle them, too," I said matter-of-factly.  
  
She moved closer to me, and wrapped her arms around me; her actions took me by surprise. Slowly, I placed my arms around her, and she rested her head on my shoulder. "What are you going to do to Raoul, Erik?" She asked almost unwillingly as she closed her eyes.  
  
I turned my head away from her for a moment, not wanting to answer her question. "Sleep, Christine, you need to rest."  
  
"Promise you won't leave me?" she yawned.  
  
"Of course," I said, feeling suddenly tired myself, as I drifted off to sleep.  
  
To be continued. . . 


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera. . .*sob*.  
  
Author's Note: I am beginning to realize that this is most likely going to be a fairly long phanphic. Anyway, this is one of those midnight inspiration chapters (my muse is a night owl, I think), so there might be time for one more chapter tomorrow before my 'big trip' to college. Thanks to my reviewers, and I hope you all enjoy this, and be sure to let me know if you do (or if you don't, for that matter).  
  
Feedback: Feedback is addictive. If there were a twelve-step group for review junkies, I would join it. Sadly, there isn't, so you'll just have to review! :)  
  
To Midasgirl ~ I think you're right about the 'okay' thing. I'm going to start using the French version, 'D'accord' where needed. I think it's more palpable in this context. Thanks!  
  
*Raoul's POV*  
  
Her house loomed before me like the promise of Heaven; blissfully sweet and completely fulfilling. Walking towards it, I felt transcendent; like a general about to claim the spoils of war.  
  
War, indeed. It had been a war, a tumultuous conflict for the greatest prize of all. . .  
  
"Christine. . ." I whispered to myself, smiling. Her name spread through me like a panacea to my weary soul; it effaced the memories of the Phantom, the pain he had caused us, the trouble he had caused me, the blood he had left on my hands. When I spoke her name, I realized it had all been a small price to pay for Christine and her freedom from that fiend.  
  
Yes, she was free. Free to follow her heart - to me.  
  
She had never loved the monster. It wasn't possible, she could never love him over me. No, she took pity on him, and he had used her. He was like a virus; he had infected her and poisoned her as he possessed her. I had cured her, and now she was mine.  
  
Mine.  
  
Forever and always mine.  
  
I reached the steps to her door, and ascended them rapidly. I knocked loudly, urgently. No reply came.  
  
I stood there for a moment, shunned at the gates of paradise.  
  
Surely, I thought, surely she was simply out. Shopping perhaps, maybe taking a walk. Not wanting to face the other possibility, I opened the door, and found her house empty, devoid of life and her grace.  
  
I closed the door behind me, and sank to the floor. "Christine?" I called, "Christine!" No reply came except silence, silence that mocked me as my eyes closed against reality. Damned gloating silence.  
  
I knew, I could feel it, she was with him.  
  
It was always him. . .  
  
Something inside me gave way as I sat in the heart of a broken dream. In that moment, in that terrible moment, Little Lotte and the boy I had been so long ago disappeared; my past and present became irrelevant, my hopes and aspirations came crashing down.  
  
Only one thing still mattered. . .  
  
She would be mine.  
  
No matter what it took, no matter who I had to destroy, she would be mine.  
  
I stood up, and left her house; closing the door on my life and happiness, and turning my focus exclusively to the hunt.  
  
*Erik's POV*  
  
My sensibilities returned to me slowly as I awakened; not that I really wanted to. In that blissful state between dreams and reality, I lay entranced by some sweet dream I had had. Christine had come back to me, and. . .  
  
"Christine," I whispered, feeling her curled up against me. She shifted, laying her head on my chest, and I opened my eyes. She smiled at me, and softly said, "Good morning."  
  
"Good morning, my angel" I said, kissing the top of her head.  
  
Suddenly, she propped herself up on her elbows and looked at me intently. After a long moment, she said, "Do you trust me, Erik?"  
  
I looked at her; shocked. After everything she and I had been through, she still doubted me and it perplexed me. "Of course I do, you know that," I said gently.  
  
She sighed, and quietly placed her hand on my mask. I could feel her touch through it, and it sent chills down my spine.  
  
It all made sense. . .the mask was the last wall between us, the last remnant of my long isolation from humanity. I hadn't even considered it; it was second nature to me. Besides, the last time she has seen me unmasked, the results had been less then pleasant. But, times change. . .  
  
People change.  
  
"If you truly trust me," she said, sounding surprisingly self- confident, "you wouldn't hide from me."  
  
I couldn't think of what to do or what to say. My mask was the one thing that had never spurned me, it had been with me - a part of me - since before my memories began, since before I realized why I needed it. It was the only consideration my Mother had ever given me; the only consideration anyone had ever given me.  
  
Until now. . .until her.  
  
I looked at her, and she gave me a look that beckoned to me, called to me through years of pain and exile. She took the first of the laces, and glanced at me, as if asking permission. I closed my eyes, and hoarsely, I said, "Do it."  
  
She lightly pulled at the first lace, and it came loose in her hand.  
  
One lace, many doubts.  
  
Would she run from me again?  
  
She moved to the second lace, it too came undone.  
  
Would her love turn to revulsion?  
  
I felt the third lace, the final lace, give way and I felt a lifetime of rejection come crashing down on me.  
  
Would she leave me once more to die in her absence? Could she. . .  
  
My eyes still closed, I felt her slowly remove the mask, and lay it by my side. She didn't move, she didn't run. Perhaps, she was too terrified to run, I thought morbidly.  
  
Adrift in that silent eternity, I took a deep breath. Then, I felt her hand brush against my cheek. . .my deformed cheek. I felt her soft breath against my ear, I heard her whisper, "Oh, Erik. . ."  
  
I opened my eyes, relieved and liberated, her face pressed against mine. She turned to me, her lips coming to rest against the twisted maze of scars I had tried so hard to protect her from. She pressed a kiss against my face, and I felt tears forming in my eyes. For so long I had dreamed of this moment. . .  
  
"I love you, Erik," she said, turning my head so that I faced her, "I love you, so much."  
  
I felt numbed, inundated with raw emotion. Somehow, I managed to say, "You mean. . ."  
  
"I mean," she said picking up the mask and throwing it across the room, "that you won't be needing that terrible thing any longer."  
  
Overwhelmed, I found myself in complete awe of her. All the faith I had in her, her voice, her spirit; it was all vindicated. I took her face in my hands, and kissed her softly, "You'll never know how much I love you," I whispered against her lips.  
  
"I know," she said, running her fingers through my hair, "but, Erik, you have to understand that that feeling is completely mutual."  
  
I smiled broadly, finally feeling complete, as she kissed me once more. . .  
  
To be continued. . . 


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera, or any of the characters therein. Someday, when I've made my millions, I'll buy the rights to the story just so I can write a phanfic without a disclaimer and walk around claiming that I own Erik, but until then, I remain a humble phan, and nothing more.  
  
Author's Note: Fordgirl's going offline for about.oh, let's say three days. After that, this and my other phanfic, 'Where There Is Love. . .' shall get updates. Anyway, much love and many thanks to my reviewers, and on with the phanfic!  
  
Archiving: Just give me a heads up first.  
  
*Christine's POV*  
  
"I love you, Erik," I said, as he turned my head slightly, "I love you, so much."  
  
He seemed as if he was in shock, which I assume he was. He looked at me intently, as if needed to say something, but the words wouldn't come. It would have been almost funny and insufferably adorable; my Erik without something to say, his voice silent, his eyes brimming with so much emotion and misbegotten frustration, if, of course, it wasn't such a serious moment. Finally, he murmured, "You mean. . ."  
  
"I mean," I said picking up his mask and throwing it as far across the room as I possibly could, "that you won't be needing that terrible thing any longer."  
  
I waited for a his reaction nervously. I knew that it would be hard for him to find the faith to accept life without the shield he had clung to for so long. I also knew he wanted to protect me from his scars and abnormalities, but I no longer wanted that protection.  
  
I wanted him without pretense.  
  
I wanted Erik and I to be together as we truly were; as it was always meant to be.  
  
Finally, he spoke, his words quiet as his heavenly voice was trembling, "You'll never know how much I love you," he whispered tenderly against my lips.  
  
Much relieved, although my anxiety had been mostly baseless paranoia, I smiled and fell under his spell once more. I drifted in dreams, but found none sweeter than my reality, this moment of peace in his arms. After a moment, I regained my senses, and I stated the obvious, "I know," I said, running my fingers through his hair, "but, Erik, you have to understand that that feeling is completely mutual."  
  
He smiled broadly, and impulsively kissed him again. As his lips parted from mine, he pulled me against him. He sighed, and said, "Thank you, Christine."  
  
"For what?" I asked, a little taken aback.  
  
"For being you, for being here; for making me feel like a normal man after all these years," he said, clutching me tighter, as if I was somehow about to disappear, "but, above all, thank you for being my angel."  
  
I smiled, his angel. . .  
  
I was no angel, however; I was just Christine Daae.  
  
In that moment, I realized that I had finally found a place where being 'just Christine Daae' was finally enough. I needed him, I wanted him - I worshipped him - and I finally found the true meaning in my father's words.  
  
He truly had sent me an angel of music; someone to love me and make me happy. It just so happened that my angel was merely a man, if a wonderful one.  
  
He was a man like no other, though, different in every way - he was somehow more than human. That irony was sweeping; he had spent his life thinking himself less than human, but in reality he was so much more. In that moment, I dedicated my life to proving that truth to him every day of his life.  
  
Every day of his life. . .his life with me. I could see us, in a few years, children running around the house, Ayesha still maintaining careful control of her kingdom from her perch on top of Erik's bookshelf; Erik and I sitting silently in each other's arms silently and blissfully observing it all. Children? Perhaps I was getting a little ahead of myself.  
  
Perhaps not. . .  
  
I knew tomorrow would come soon enough, I knew that I would have a chance to live each of the days left before me; I knew that this moment was already passing me by. I was overjoyed, but, it was as if something was missing, something important; then it became clear. . .  
  
"Erik?" I asked softly, "Will you sing for me?"  
  
Without a word, he began to sing. I could feel the deep power of the notes resonating in his chest, and I was swept up in the very essence of the song. The words became irrelevant; I was almost one with the music itself. The melody burned into my mind, my heart, and I could feel the unsung harmony in my soul. I stayed silent, not wanting the song to end.  
  
When his was finished, and the last note laid heavy upon the air like a brilliant cascade of falling stars in the summer's sky, I sighed.  
  
"Are you happy, my dear," he said attentively.  
  
"Yes," I purred, "because I am with you." He stirred slightly, next to me, and sat up. "My love," he said purposely, as if something had just occurred to him. He turned towards me as I sat up as well, "You must get ready. We are going out tonight."  
  
"We are?" I asked in confusion, his sudden actions a mystery to me, "Why?"  
  
"Yes, we are," he laughed, "but, if I tell you why, I fear you'll ruin the surprise."  
  
"Erik. . ." I said slowly, slightly skeptically.  
  
"Do you trust me?" He said with a smile, standing up.  
  
"You know I do," I replied earnestly.  
  
"Then, I'll leave you to prepare, Christine," he said walking towards the door. When he had reached the door, and had started to turn the knob, he paused, and added, "Only the most formal of dress will do, mind you. Keep that in mind." He looked back at me for a second, almost longingly, but he soon opened the door and walked out. I could hear his footsteps heading down the hallway towards his room, and I stood up.  
  
Walking to my closet, I threw open the doors, and scanned the dresses before me until I had found the perfect one. Taking it out of its place, I carried it to the bed, and laid it down.  
  
Yes, it was perfect. But, for what?  
  
*Raoul's POV*  
  
I stormed into the dank bar with purpose, scanning the murky ambiance until I found the subjects of my search. I walked over to them quickly, the acrid smoke becoming heavier as I ventured farther into this den of inequity. The lead man spotted me as I approached the dirty, cluttered bar. "Back so soon, Vicomte?" he asked drunkenly, his words forming an almost incomprehensible slur.  
  
"Yes," I hissed, "I am." With that I grabbed him by the tattered lapels of his coat, and pulled him towards me. His associates made no great attempt to stop me; they were both too engrossed with the wine that sat before them and too encumbered by the wine that had gone before. "You have failed; you left the monster alive, and she is with him."  
  
"Impossible," he stuttered, "he was dead when we left him."  
  
"Heed my words; he lives. And as long as he lives, you haven't completed your end of the bargain. I have paid you well, I'm sure you'll agree, but unless you complete the task. . ."  
  
"Tonight," the man said, nodding his head rapidly, "tonight we shall return to his home and finish the task. Shall we bring you the girl?"  
  
"Yes," I said, pushing him backwards as I realized him, "see that you do." With that, I turned on my heel and walked out of the bar, into the fading sunlight and towards my home to wait once more.  
  
To be continued. . . 


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera. . .seriously.  
  
Author's Note: What's this? An update? It's about time! Seriously, I must really like you guys or something like that because it's 11:30 and I haven't seen my room since 9 AM when I left to take a placement exam in calc, so, well, you get the point. A new POV is being introduced for the first and last time in this chapter, you'll see why. Anyway, much love and many thanks to all those who have reviewed (keep up the good work!) and enjoy!  
  
To M~ I'm at school now (alas, I'm a lowly freshman again) in the suburbs of Philly. There are lots of schools here, too, but I'm not in the city proper. I love it here, and thanks for the wishes of Good Luck and Happy Birthdays. Good luck with everything at college to you, too! In fact, Happy Birthday! You have to have one at some point, so. . .  
  
  
  
*Jean-Claude's POV*  
  
I hated those cellars with an intense dread that words fail to fully encompass. Still, as I stumbled drunkenly through the perpetual darkness of the labyrinths, I felt the thrilling promise of danger in the air, fresh adrenaline releasing throughout me as I succumbed to my darker urges.  
  
The Vicomte's money had brought me to this horrid place, but my own vices are what made me stay.  
  
My associates seemed as if still in shock, as was I, to some extent; we had left the man dead, lifeless and still upon the rich oriental carpets of his study, and yet he lived. I had, of course, heard the rumors of the Opera Ghost, the myth of the Phantom, but I brushed them off as little more than the latest idol banter of the upper classes. Now, I saw the fiend as what he was - a phoenix, continuously rising from the ashes.  
  
I, understood, however, why someone would want to live as he did, in the shadows, alone and forsaken by the world. The world is a terrible place, it spits you out and passes you by without second thought; it wastes some of the finest lives to make some of the most worthless that much easier. I almost commiserated with this Phantom, and his plight.  
  
After all, in many ways, it was my own.  
  
Of course, in my line of work, sympathy is a dangerous thing. I have laid my humanity upon the altar of greed, I have sold my soul to feed my temptations. I must never forget that, not even for a moment, or I will wake up one day and see the blood on my hands.  
  
My thoughts snapped back into focus as I tripped slightly over some unseen crack in the ground beneath me. We were drawing near to our goal; I could feel it, I could smell the listless waters of the underground lake. Soon, the imposing shadow of the Phantom's home became dominant in the faint light of our torches.  
  
This time, no lights glowed in the windows, no noises came from inside. We approached the door silently, and opened it cautiously. After a moment's hesitation, and a deep breath, I walked in.  
  
No one was there; no girl and no phantom.  
  
"What should we do, Jean-Claude?" Robert's voice echoed around me, and I closed my eyes as I thought intently over my response. Suddenly, an idea dawned on me, and I turned to him.  
  
"We'll force them out of the cellars. Burn the house," I said approaching him, and bidding him to obey.  
  
"Are you certain. . ." Pierre asked, and I held up a hand to silence him.  
  
"Burn it," I repeated succinctly, and he nodded. Pierre and Laurent threw their torches into the richly appointed home, and the flames quickly began to consume it in a terrific display.  
  
Orange fire purified the blackness of night.  
  
"When they return," I said, as we backed out of the burning building and began our assent, "they shall find naught but destruction, and they shall have nowhere to turn but the outside world, where we shall be waiting for them."  
  
Waiting, indeed.  
  
Waiting to further the darkness of the world in the name of the light.  
  
Sometimes, I loathe my job.  
  
*Christine's POV*  
  
"Erik?," I asked quietly as the carriage he had commissioned jostled through the city, "Where are we going?"  
  
"For the last time," he said, laughing and turning to me slowly, "it's a surprise."  
  
I smiled with a sigh, and leaned back against the leather seat. I pulled the curtain aside, and I looked up at the sky; the stars playing out tragedies and triumphs in blazes of brilliant fire against night's black velvet richness. It seemed perfection itself, this simple carriage ride with Erik. Again, he was teaching me; this time, about life, about how the simple things are often the most fulfilling.  
  
"We've almost arrived," he said with a slight tone of indulgence. I looked at him, and he stared back lovingly. I realized that he had mistaken my stargazing for anticipation, which, I guess, in some way, it was.  
  
"I see." I said, turning back to the window, "Erik, have you ever just looked at the stars?"  
  
"Not really," he sighed absently, "I have never really been one for communing with nature, my dear."  
  
"Well," I said, looking at him, and pulling him closer, "you should." He embraced me silently, and resting his head on top of mine, he joined me in watching nature's fiery displays in the heavens.  
  
"Beautiful, aren't they," I said, slightly triumphantly.  
  
"Not so much as you," he replied dreamily, pulling me closer; it was just then that the carriage jostled to a halt.  
  
"It would seem that we've arrived," he said, moving towards the door, and opening it for me. I got out slowly, nervously, and looked up in awe.  
  
To be continued. . .sorry for the cliffhanger, my roommate actually wants to sleep! Imagine that. . . 


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Me, own Phantom of the Opera? I'm sorry, but if you actually thought that I did, that's really quite sad. ;)  
  
Author's Note: I'm 18 today; yet instead of going out to buy lotto tickets (lol) I'm writing another chapter for you guys. My point? Remember this when classes start, and my updates become more irregular. :) Anyway, here's chapter 8, and do enjoy it.  
  
Feedback: Please!  
  
*Raoul's POV*  
  
I hated the feeling of inaction that came over me as I sat in my study; anxiously awaiting the arrival of the three fools I had hired for the second time.  
  
Surely, I had done my best; it was clear that I alone was no match for the Phantom in any contest of strength or agility. I felt, however, that my life had spun out of my control; that I had become dependent on the easiest and most base forms of reaching my goals. It was thoroughly disheartening, and completely intolerable that I, a Vicomte, needed to hire drunks to do my bidding.  
  
Christine didn't want me; that was clear. Still, I didn't care, for I was intent on making her mine. That one goal filled me, and pushed my doubts aside.  
  
It was simply a matter of principle now.  
  
Insolent girl and her notions of grandeur; her dreams of angels that stalk the night. How naïve, how childish, she could be!  
  
And yet. . .how beautiful, how intriguing; her voice called to me through the sin and the vice I was mired in. Her song was the one thing that still made me feel free, unbidden by what I had become.  
  
Sometimes, in the silence, I could hear her; calling, pleading, begging me to come to her. It was all an illusion of course, nothing more than some sweet folly played across my mind's weary stage. Still, I couldn't shake the fantasy; the song and the face of the woman I loved.  
  
I assured myself constantly, that when she came, she would realize the error in her ways. She would love me and learn to be my Christine again; she would happily be my wife and bear my children.  
  
She would be mine, and mine alone.  
  
A dream? Maybe. . .  
  
A beautiful one that surpassed every reality I had yet known.  
  
When they came, they came in fear. I could sense it on them, read it plainly on their dirty faces. Of course, I couldn't blame them for their apprehension: they had come without Christine. I decided, for once, to give them the benefit of the doubt, if only momentarily.  
  
"Well?" I asked simply, standing up and walking towards them. The lead man stepped forward and began to speak.  
  
"When we arrived, Vicomte, no one was there in the house by the lake so, I decided to force them out of the cellars."  
  
"How?" I asked, calming slightly.  
  
"We burned the house. It's a complete loss," he said simply, with a sick grin spreading across his face.  
  
"I see," I said, processing this new information, and the new situation it produced.  
  
"We are returning to watch the entrance, Vicomte," he said, motioning for the two men to begin to leave my study, "we will watch for your fiancé and the fiend; he shall not find fate so generous this time."  
  
"See that he doesn't," I said turning from them and clasping my hands, "When they return, I want you to get my fiancé away from that monster and see that he is never able to harm her again."  
  
"Of course, Vicomte," he said, and with that the three of them stalked out of my home and into the streets where resolution would surely follow them.  
  
I smiled, my doubts effaced. Victory, no matter what the price, kept it's own virtues that defied all vice. I was not the offending party, merely the victim, and in victory, sweet victory, I would find my rewards.  
  
*Christine's POV*  
  
As I stepped out of the carriage, I stood in awe. The park stretched before me in a seemingly endless blur of color spread upon a foundation of lush greens. A twisted wrought iron fence surrounded the perimeter - sealing of the utopia within from the stone and steel of the city proper. I had never before seen this place, nor did I recognize the surrounding area, but it seemed the kind of place that the world had passed by, in spite of all its charm and grace.  
  
It seemed the kind of place that Erik would feel most at home in.  
  
I heard the carriage door close behind me, and the horse's footsteps as it pulled away. "It's beautiful," I stammered, not knowing what else I could say at that moment.  
  
"Indeed," came the hushed reply as Erik took my arm and led me towards the entrance. The blue silk of the dress I had chosen flowed freely behind me as I walked with him, the opalescent stones in the necklace I was wearing cast beams of reflected moonlight into the crisp night air. I felt almost free, unbound my man or nature, with nothing to keep my feet on the ground except for my love for Erik. We approached a garden of odd plants, vibrant and exotic in their color and shape. Erik led me to a bench, and motioned for me to sit.  
  
*Erik's POV*  
  
Christine sat down on the bench, looking every ounce the goddess taking her natural place in paradise. She sat there, mixed emotions -confusion, awe, wonder, and, yes, even love- in her eyes as she meditatively absorbed her surroundings. She looked at me, and, I knew the time had come.  
  
"Christine," I began, my own nervousness shocking me as I sat beside her, "You may be wondering why I've brought you to a park in a formal gown in the middle of the night."  
  
"Well. . ." she said, glancing up at me playfully, "maybe just a little."  
  
I laughed slightly, and my nervousness faded slightly. "I do have my reasons, I assure you," I said, looking at the ground to avoid eye contact, "I am not completely mad, contrary to popular belief." I heard her giggle for a moment, but I kept looking down. It didn't take her long to figure out that I had something of import to tell her. "I know this place is informal, and I know that you must be a little confused, but, I have my motives. You see, it is the occasion itself which is singular."  
  
"I see," she said, looking at me intently, her brow furrowing with what must have been thought and conjecture. It was really quite adorable; her sitting in such pontification, perplexed and exquisitely beautiful. I simply had to smile at the sight.  
  
"Yes," I said finally, taking her hand in mine, "for you see, tonight is very unique."  
  
"It is?" She asked, smiling slightly; almost incredulously.  
  
"Indeed," I said, standing up. She motioned to follow suit, and I placed my hand on her shoulder to stop her. "I believe," I said, kneeling before her on one knee, "it is traditional that you be seated for this, my dear."  
  
Her eyes grew wide, and she leaned forward quickly in a frenzy of uncertain and uncommitted movements, quietly, almost inaudibly, she whispered, "Oh my God. . ."  
  
To be continued. . . Actually, I have a seminar in ten minutes, so I didn't really want to stop here, but I wanted to post something for you guys. Before I forget, does anyone want to write a collaboration with me? Just let me know. . . 


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom, unless you count delusions and daydreams. . .  
  
Author's Note: I think I'm humoring you guys; it's 12:18 and I start classes tomorrow. I'll stop complaining now, who needs sleep anyway? You guys are awesome just for reading this story, and I left you with a terrible cliffhanger, so this is a terribly short resolution to what was left unfinished in Chapter 8. (I KNOW it's short, I just wanted to absolve the cliffhanger. The next chapter will be normal length) As always, much love and many thanks to my reviewers, and do enjoy the phanphic!  
  
Feedback: Please!  
  
*Christine's POV*  
  
"Oh my God. . ." I heard myself whisper in the distance. I could feel the look of shock spread over my face, even though, in all truth, this was no shocking turn of events. I could almost feel his nervousness through my own, the fear of rejection that still lingered in his soul.  
  
Before me, he looked surreal in the darkness; his cloak rustling slightly in the breeze as the mask he still wore in public glinted slightly, giving him an undeniably angelic aura. I marveled at that for a moment, before my attention was stolen away by his movements. As I sat wordlessly, he pulled a small black box out of some pocket that was hidden in his cape. He opened it, revealing a simple gold ring, and as he attempted to speak, the words caught in his throat.  
  
He took a deep breath, and slowly, the words came, "You know I love you, Christine; that much has always been clear. All I have to offer you is my heart, my music and my undying devotion, but, if that's enough for you, I would be honored and elated beyond words if you would be my wife."  
  
He looked inherently vulnerable in that moment, his heart - his life - was in my hands. I knew it would be unspeakably cruel if I let him languish in limbo for too long, but still, I couldn't find the power to speak. I closed my eyes, and smiled as sweet emotions washed over me.  
  
Renewed; I said, "Of course I will marry you."  
  
He stood, and this time, he pulled me up to stand beside him. No more words were needed then; more sentiment would have clouded the moment. He simply pulled me into his arms, and I melted into his strong embrace. I could hear the chirping of birds, the rustle of plants, all the telltale signs of the coming day.  
  
After a few minutes, Erik stirred. "We must return to the house before dawn," he sighed.  
  
"I know," I whispered, pulling his cloak around me tightly as I spoke, and I felt him kiss the top of my head.  
  
"Come," he said softly, wrapping an arm around me as we began to walk out of the park. A carriage waited for us by the gate, and when we had reached it, Erik helped me get in. After the door was closed behind us, the carriage rocked slightly and we began to the journey back to the house by the lake - back to our home. 


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Somehow, I think the world would be a better place if I did own Phantom, but it just wasn't meant to be. *tear*  
  
Author's Note: Hey everyone; don't have much to say this time. This chapter is longer (please forgive the Dante reference and the character death.*looks around room; must change subject*. . .have faith people!) and I hope you all enjoy it. As always, much love and many thanks to my reviewers!  
  
Feedback: Please!  
  
*Erik's POV*  
  
I knew something was wrong the moment I stepped through the Rue Scribe entrance; the lurid smell of alcohol lingered in the air, and the, ever so faint, scent of acrid smoke warned of some yet unseen disaster. I froze in the darkness, my cloak falling around me as my movement stopped and I became still. Christine nearly bumped into me, but she said nothing as she must have seen the apprehension plainly written on my face. For a moment, there was naught but silence, and I simply listened for any further signs of trouble.  
  
There was nothing to be heard but water dripping softly in the distance, and Christine's breath upon my neck. I turned to her, and I said, "You must stay close to me, I fear something is amiss, and if my suppositions are correct, we may be in danger."  
  
"Raoul. . ." she whispered quietly; angrily. I felt her hand grasp my own and I pulled her close to me protectively. Rapidly, we walked through the passages, the faint smell of smoke growing into a strong odor and, finally, a haze that filled the tunnels and an increasingly intense heat. It was painfully obvious that we were about to walk into our own private Inferno.  
  
We reached the house after some time, only to find that it was no more than charred ashes and smoldering remnants of what once was; and what might have been. "Oh, Erik. . ." I heard Christine sob, and I took her in my arms.  
  
"Sshhh," I soothed as she cried into my chest, "it will be alright; we will be alright. As long as we have each other, we will always have a home." My words, however, were much more than an attempt to end her tears; they were more than the truth itself. As I looked at the ashes of my house, I saw beyond the destruction of my home.  
  
I saw the shattered edifices of my prison.  
  
Christine had set me free from my past when she came to me, she released me from my pain, my fear; my desolation. Somehow, it seemed fitting that the last remnant of my past was in ashes.  
  
Somehow, it seemed appropriate that I now had to find a place in the world above - in the light.  
  
Still, Christine cried, her noisy sobs fading gradually to silent tears. After a moment, she looked up at me, her eyes red and swollen, and she simply said, "Ayesha. . ."  
  
With one word, she stole my optimistic train of thought.  
  
With one word, she brought a veritable flurry of emotions down upon me.  
  
"Ayesha," I echoed sadly; mournfully.  
  
Ayesha, indeed. The one creature that had never failed to love me, who had never turned from me or rejected me. In the frenzy of the moment, I had forgotten the one thing that had brought me happiness before Christine.  
  
"Perhaps she ran out of the house and into the cellars," Christine said rapidly, pulling away from me and moving in several directions in a frantic search, "Perhaps she managed to get to the lake."  
  
"Christine," I pleaded hoarsely, tears forming in my eyes, as I grasped her wrist to stop her frenetic quest, "Everything is gone. Everything." I repeated the last word sullenly, and she embraced me quietly.  
  
"I know," she whispered, "but. . ."  
  
I interrupted, turning towards the passages, "We must go. They would not burn the house if they didn't intend on making some use of the situation. I fear, my dear, that we have fallen prey to an ambush." Christine nodded, absorbing what I had just said. I looked towards the lake, and made a quick decision, "We will leave through the door in your former dressing room. I doubt they would have anticipated that. Go to the dock and wait for me, I shall be along directly."  
  
Christine kissed my cheek, and casting one last, mournful glance at what was left of my home, she began to walk slowly towards the lake. When she was out of sight, I fell to my knees before the ruins, my hands falling into my lap as my eyes closed and my lips began moving with a silent prayer for what was gone.  
  
I stayed there for short time, knowing we had to leave before our chance to escape was completely lost. Standing up, I said for one more prayer for Ayesha, and walked to the dock to rejoin Christine.  
  
*Christine's POV*  
  
Erik came to the dock suddenly, emerging from the shadows and smoke and silently helping me into the boat. He quickly joined me, and began rowing us towards the distant, opposite shore. We traveled in silence for a long time, overwhelmed and exhausted, and I could find the will to do nothing but look out to the glassy, dark waters that seemed to reflect my mood with uncanny accuracy.  
  
Questions plagued me, the future was suddenly a mystery. Eventually, it became unbearable, and I had to ask, "Where will we go?"  
  
There was a brief pause before Erik replied, but after his hesitation, he spoke simply and resolutely, "Nadir's. We shall go to Nadir's for the time being."  
  
I nodded, not knowing if there was anything else I could possibly say. I sat quietly, pondering the situation, but, soon I realized that the smoky ruins of the house were out of sight, the waters no longer rippled slightly and soon I felt the boat jostle as it reached the shore. He stood, and, helping me out of the boat, he led me towards the labyrinth of passages that led to the surface; to our new life.  
  
To be continued (soon, hopefully) 


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I still don't own Phantom of the Opera. I still think that sucks. Enough said.  
  
DRD~ About my inspiration, it will take some time to develop, but keep the faith.  
  
Author's Note: This took too long, I know. Sorry guys, but I have been pretty busy lately, and well, school comes first. Anyway, here is the long over due update, and I hope you'll forgive my slowness. Much love and many thanks to my reviewers, and enjoy!  
  
Feedback: Please!  
  
*Erik's POV*  
  
Memories came flooding back to me as we stepped through the mirror and into the small room where our saga began. I shook my head, refusing to think of the mistakes of the past, Christine looked tired, overwhelmed by the journey through the labyrinth, her emotions, or perhaps both. She leaned against me heavily, and I wrapped my arm tightly around her. I led her over to the couch, and throwing the dustcover off, I helped her sit. She sank back into the overstuffed velour, her eyes closing lightly. I sat beside her, and a moment later her head was on my shoulder.  
  
"My dear," I whispered softly, not truly having the heart to wake her, "We must hurry, there is precious little time, and there shall be a time for rest soon."  
  
She moaned slightly, and her eyes opened slowly. She nodded, and I helped her to her feet.  
  
We walked quietly out of the room, into the darkened Opera House. Christine slumped against me as we made it to the lobby. I wordlessly picked her up, and lifted her like a child into my arms. Her head settled against my chest, and soon, I could tell from her breathing that she had fallen asleep.  
  
I was slightly encumbered by Christine's weight as I made my way into the tawny light of the early morning. I rushed to get out of public view, the spectral image a masked man in dress clothes carrying a woman down the steps of the Opera House was sure to draw much unwanted and unneeded attention.  
  
I finally reached the streets, and I hurriedly made my way to the alleys. Naturally, I had long since discovered the least public route to Nadir's; it proved to be quite convenient knowledge in the case of an emergency such as this. I paused for a moment as we entered the murky shadows of the alleys. I didn't hear the sounds of a pursuit; no shuffled footsteps, hushed voices or quickened breaths greeted my ears as I stood stoically in the artificial darkness.  
  
Slightly relieved, I renewed my steady cadence towards Nadir's home, knowing that I could find some shelter there, even if it would not last forever.  
  
*Christine's POV*  
  
I awoke in a soft bed, a comforter tucked carefully around me. Instinctively, I reached out to my left, only to find no Erik.  
  
For a second, I was terrified: I was alone.  
  
I sat up. I was in a small room decorated in rich, oriental patterns. From behind the door, I could hear indistinct voices talking softly. I knew immediately where I was, Erik's words from last night played through my mind. "Nadir's. We shall go to Nadir's for the time being. . ."  
  
We had made it, and I was elated. I smiled, and stood up, realizing only then that I was still in my formal dress from the night before. I walked towards the door, and hesitated for a moment before I opened it. I could hear Erik's deep voice resonating from behind it, and I felt suddenly at home.  
  
So, Erik had been right all along. . .about everything, as it were.  
  
I opened the door, and stepped out of the bedroom to find Erik lying across a chaise as the Persian sat, idly chatting at him from the comfort of an oversized and overstuffed chair. He turned to me, and he simply nodded as he said, "Good evening, Mlle. Daae."  
  
As he spoke my name, Erik sat up quickly, turning towards me and smiling as I walked over to join him on the chaise.  
  
"Evening?" I asked, yawning.  
  
"Yes," Erik replied, wrapping an arm around me as I sat beside him, "you've been asleep all day."  
  
"How did we get here?" I asked, realizing how childish I must've sounded at that moment.  
  
"I carried you," Erik said succinctly as Nadir nodded furiously.  
  
"When he arrived, it quite the scene, I had just woken up, and you were very much asleep, and he was exhausted, though he'll never admit that, I'm sure," Nadir said with a small smile, "of course, you can stay here for awhile, until things settle down, as I'm sure they will eventually."  
  
"Thank you," I said faintly, feeling overwhelmed and exhausted.  
  
"Well," the Persian said, standing up, "I shall leave you two to yourselves. Please make sure Erik gets some rest, Mlle. Daae." Erik laughed and I smiled. With that, the Persian walked to the stairs adjoining the room, and left us alone.  
  
To be continued. . . 


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: Alas, I don't own Phantom.  
  
Author's Note: Classes are over for the week, so I have some time for a few days. I want to get this story done fairly quickly, and updates should be quite frequent until it is. (This isn't that long, but I might post more tonight) Much love and many thanks to all my reviewers, and do enjoy the phanphic!  
  
Feedback: Please!  
  
*Christine's POV*  
  
Erik did look extraordinarily tired as the Persian made his exit. I turned to him, and he leaned his head against mine. "A few more days like this," he sighed, "and I fear I shall go completely into exhaustion. Somehow, I think, it would be worth it, too."  
  
I smiled, and kissed him lightly on the cheek. I pulled him closer, and impulsively, I asked, "Erik?"  
  
"Hmmm, my dear," he replied wearily, dreamily.  
  
"When shall we be married?" I asked, biting my lower lip. He jarred slightly, and pulled away so he could look at me as we talked.  
  
"To be honest, I believe I should leave it up to you," he said in a suddenly renewed, melodious voice, "I am ready whenever you are, and I certainly don't wish to rush you, my dear."  
  
"In that case," I said, bluntly -perhaps too bluntly-, "I believe tomorrow would be perfect. Any further delay seems terribly unnecessary, mind you."  
  
Erik nearly fell off the chaise as he processed what I had said, and he leaned heavily on his hands as if he was overwhelmed. He glanced down at the floor for a moment, and then turned towards me, all smiles. "If that is what you want," he said soothingly, "than I shall certainly make it so. Otherwise, what kind of a gentleman would I be?"  
  
I embraced him tightly, never wanting to let him go. Of course, he had gone at least a full day without sleep, and apparently, tomorrow was to be a big day. "Erik," I said finally, unwillingly, "perhaps we should go get some sleep."  
  
"Of course," he said standing up and offering me his arm in a sweeping gesture, "we can't have you falling asleep at your own wedding, now can we?"  
  
I shook my head with a small laugh and took his arm. When I was on my feet, I reached up to run my fingers through his hair, and I kissed him on the lips, holding him to me as if he was about to disappear. He broke the kiss after a long time, and he leaned against me. Out of breath, he whispered, "And what was that for, Christine?"  
  
"I wasn't aware," I answered coyly, "that I needed a reason."  
  
He stifled a small laugh, and said, "You never have, and you never will. I am nothing if I am not completely yours; you must know that."  
  
"Yes," I answered, closing my eyes, "I do, but, sometimes, I fear that you don't understand that I feel the same way about you."  
  
There was a moment of comfortable silence as we stood there in each other's arms. Finally, after some time, he answered my challenge with a tender kiss. He wrapped his hand behind my head, and leaned his forehead against mine. In my soul, it felt as if we were one being with the same emotions and thoughts echoing around us. Surely, if we were not one, then we were at least alone in the world; in that moment, my world consisted entirely, exclusively, of him.  
  
"Come," he bade huskily after what seemed like a small, pleasant eternity, "let's get you to bed. Tomorrow shall be a hectic day, and we both could use some rest."  
  
"Of course," I said happily, if sleepily, "but I mustn't let you pretend you are completely indefatigable."  
  
"Of course not," he yawned, as we walked into the bedroom.  
  
"Goodnight," I whispered, my eyes closing instinctively the moment my head hit the pillow. In the distance, I heard him make some reply, but in the haze of encroaching sleep, it was lost to the ages.  
  
To be continued. . .(this seemed like the last natural break in the story for a while, so. . .) 


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I honestly don't own Phantom. . .yet. . .:)  
  
Author's Note: I can't allow the throwing of chairs, now can I? Therefore, I must write on to assuage my audience! Much love and many thanks to my reviewers, and I hope everyone enjoys this chapter!  
  
Feedback: Always welcome, always appreciated.  
  
  
  
*Raoul's POV*  
  
As the sun rose in the East, it became clear that the upper hand had been lost. Perhaps, I still hoped, perhaps they were still in the cellars, or had not yet attempted to return to that infernal house by the lake from wherever they had gone to last night. Deep down inside, however, I knew that I had little to hope for, that Erik had won again.  
  
Deep down inside, I knew that it was for the best.  
  
Luckily for my ambition, I had long since learned to ignore my conscience.  
  
The drunken trio of would-be murderers came sauntering back into my house around noon. They were defeated, outmatched, as I should have anticipated that they would be. They did, to their credit, look genuinely apologetic, truly ashamed of their failure. The lead man slinked forward, his eyes cast down, his face unreadable.  
  
"They must have escaped before we set the fire, Monsieur le Vicomte, for we saw no sign of them above or underground last night and this morning. Surely, the Phantom would not stalk the city broad daylight, Monsieur."  
  
"Surely, surely," I repeated busily, redundantly. I stood up, and began pacing about the study like a madman, "but perhaps it is still possible to trap them if. . ."  
  
"Vicomte," the man boldly interrupted, although he still avoided eye contact, "the battle is lost. The Phantom has bested us, Monsieur."  
  
"Indeed, for now," I said, nodding furiously, my hands beginning to tremble, "but he has hardly won yet, Gentlemen, he has hardly defeated us yet!"  
  
"Vicomte," the man said dejectedly, fear obvious in his voice, "they are gone. We don't even have a starting point for a search, much less a feasible plan to defeat the monster."  
  
"I see," I said furiously, "I see where your loyalties lie! You ungrateful street urchins! Leave me now!"  
  
"But, Vicomte. . ." he muttered, almost helplessly.  
  
"Now!" I interrupted, dismissing them with a brusque motion of my arm.  
  
They left quickly, silently. As they left me, I realized how completely alone I was, and not knowing what else to do, I grabbed my wallet and tucked my pistol into the waist of my trousers.  
  
I might have lost the battle, yes, but no matter what happened, I would not lose the war.  
  
  
  
*Erik's POV*  
  
I awoke early, before the dawn, to prepare for the day ahead. Still, it seemed quite unreal that this day had come at all. Never had I dared imagine that I would find someone who would accept me, much less want me, much less love me. I looked at Christine in the waxing light of the false dawn; never had she seemed more beautiful, more perfect. Her hair was sprawled out across her pillow, her hand lay carelessly on the pillow and her lips were gathered into a pout that made her look utterly angelic. The sight made me smile, and the knowledge that she was mine - that she had chosen me willingly - took my breath away.  
  
I left the room unwillingly, forcing myself to turn away from her momentarily so that I could soon turn to her forever. For today, she would become my wife.  
  
My wife; words I thought I would never have cause to say, a notion I thought I would never have cause to cherish. Still, it was beginning to feel natural; Christine and I, we were as one. When she kissed me, I felt the pain of my entire life leave me in a flash of light, as if she was the panacea I had always sought out vainly.  
  
As if she was the purpose that my life had always lacked.  
  
I walked into the sitting room to find Nadir awake, awaiting me; it seemed he knew me to well after all these years. He looked up, and as I moved to sit opposite of him, and he said, "So it seems we shall have a wedding today, at long last?"  
  
"Yes," I said, "but. . ."  
  
"How did I know that?" He interrupted knowingly, "well, this is a rather small house, and you were rather loud in your excitement, my friend."  
  
"I see," I said with a small, exuberant laugh.  
  
"I assume you want me to go retrieve a priest who is willing to perform the sacrament and hold his tongue afterwards?" Nadir said, a smile spreading across his face.  
  
"Yes," I said eagerly, "yes, that would be. . .wonderful. Indeed, please do."  
  
Nadir simply nodded, and stood. He grabbed his overcoat, and without any further word or motion, he left for the nearest church. I sat back against the couch, placing my hands behind my head, a small sigh escaping my lips. The sun was finally coming up now, I could see the orange haze of morning through my closed eyes. I heard a noise in the adjoining room, and I turned towards it, opening my eyes. The door opened, and Christine stepped out, rubbing her eyes sleepily. She looked up at me, and she smiled.  
  
"Good morning, my love," I said, entranced.  
  
"Good morning," she yawned, smoothing the wrinkles in her dress as she sat. Curious, I thought, that this was the morning of her wedding, and she sat in a slept in dress, her hair long ago fallen, her eyes shining through her obvious tiredness. Curious, yes, but marvelous and wonderful, too.  
  
"Is Nadir up as well," she asked quietly.  
  
"Yes, but he is out," I said simply.  
  
"Where has he gone at this hour?" She asked curiously.  
  
"To fetch a priest, of course," I said, looking at her with a mix of apprehension, anticipation and adoration.  
  
All at once, she seemed quite awake. She smiled and got up, coming to sit beside me. "He has?" she prodded.  
  
"Yes," I avowed, "He has."  
  
After a moment, she smiled at me. That, it seemed, was the only response I needed.  
  
To be continued. . . 


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I don't own POTO; that makes me sad. I don't own Erik; that makes me very, very sad!  
  
Author's Note: There has been much commotion lately about Raoul, so let me just take this opportunity to reaffirm a very elementary fact; I am very, very pro-Erik. I still believe Raoul is essentially a fop. That being said, it appears the phanphic has crossed the halfway point, and I may, ideally be able to finish it within a week or two. Much love and many thanks to my reviewers (keep up the good work, guys!) and enjoy!  
  
Shameless plug: Be sure to check out my new collaboration with Estella Havisham: 'Life Outside the Phantom's Shadow'!  
  
*Erik's POV*  
  
Nadir returned about an hour later, an apprehensive young clergyman in tow. The priest looked terribly nervous; Nadir had obviously given him some insight into the singular nature of the rites he was about to perform. He looked like a man who had just walked into a frightful storm; he looked out cautiously from widened green eyes, and he clung to his sacrosanct cross and robes as though they were his only lifelines. Still, he managed to give off the aura of a pious man; a man who because of his virtue is willing to do almost anything in the name of what is holy.  
  
Like love; the most pure and divine ideal of them all.  
  
Nadir led the bewildered cleric into the sitting room, and gesturing towards Christine and I, he said, "These are the two I spoke of; Christine and Erik, who wish to be married. As you can probably see, good sir, from their rumbled clothes and weary countenance, they have been through quite an ordeal, and cannot go out into public at the moment for fear of even great tragedies that may yet come if they tempt fate."  
  
The priest nodded his head, a sign of some level of understanding, he began to speak his demeanor calming slightly as he entered into the realm of sacred duty, "You two are prepared to enter into the covenant of marriage on this fine morning, I take it."  
  
"Yes," Christine and I chorused in uncanny unison.  
  
"You are certain of this?" He questioned out of formality, "Marriage is not an institution that can be entered into lightly."  
  
In earlier times, his insinuations would have raised a terrible anger within me; I would have instantly perceived his words as some sort of a challenge to my love and devotion. Christine, however, had brought something wonderful into my life: perspective. Now, now it was clear to me that the man was simply doing his job.  
  
Besides, in the blissful euphoria of my wedding day, I was only focused on one thing, and it certainly wasn't the priest who stood before me.  
  
Lost in thought, my attention wandered until I heard Christine say, "Father, we understand the consequences and are quite ready to be wed."  
  
"Yes," I reaffirmed, taking Christine's hand, "quite ready."  
  
"Well, then," the priest said, "I see no reason why we shouldn't begin. I assume," he said, glancing around the awkward surroundings, "that you want the ceremony to be as simple as possible?"  
  
Christine smiled and nodded, and I felt all at once quite overwhelmed. Still, my happiness transcended my inundated senses, and I shook my head in unwavering agreement.  
  
"Erik and Christine," he began, suddenly sounding quite official and zealous, "today before God you are promising your devotion and commitment to each other. You are willingly entering into the sacrament of marriage, and are thusly forming a lifelong bond of love, respect and trust with each other. I assume you have your own vows?"  
  
I nodded instinctively. Speaking extemporaneously was no problem where my love for Christine was concerned; I could talk forever with the most profound of words and still never fully express my emotions.  
  
"Then," the priest bade, "Erik, make your promise to Christine."  
  
"Christine," I began, the nervousness in my voice surprising me, "you know I love you with all my heart and soul. For you, I would lay down my life in an instant, for without you, life would hold no meaning and love would be a mere memory. You have brought wonder into my life; you have taught me that the simple things are often the most profound, and that I should cherish them. The glint in your eyes, the smell of your hair, the way you smile and sing; those are the things that I live for, Christine. You certainly know that without you, I am lost. I shall always cherish you and protect you, and as long as I breathe I shall always strive to make you happy, for if you are happy, I am as well."  
  
Christine looked at me with tears forming in the corners of her eyes, even Nadir looked touched by my words. I focused on Christine and the ethereal look on her face, as the priest spoke again, "Christine, it is now time for you to make your vow to Erik."  
  
"Erik," she began, her voice heavy with yet unspoken feeling, "we have been through so much together, so many things that should have driven us apart, and yet here I sit beside you, more in love with you than ever. You are the center of my world; you are my light, my angel, my only concern in life. I love you with all my soul; I want nothing more in life than to be your wife, and to live with you by my side forever. Without you, I would lose all direction, all hope, I would wither away and become a shell of what I am today. You have made me feel so alive, so wonderfully alive, and I am forever in your debt. I shall always love you, cherish you and take care of you as best I can. As long as we are together, my love, the music shall never die."  
  
I could feel myself grow weak at her words, my heart was melting and my soul crying out for her embrace. I smiled faintly, as I tried vainly not to be carried away by emotions.  
  
"Erik and Christine, you have this day sworn your love, and have pledged your desire to become one in the eyes of God. In his name, and through the power vested in me, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride."  
  
I leaned forward, and Christine leaned into my embrace. Our lips met, and I closed my eyes, reality sinking in slowly. She was my wife.  
  
Christine was my wife.  
  
Surreal reality faded into pressing emotion as I broke the kiss. Christine pulled away, her eyes closed, a small, wonderfully pure smile lingering on her face. "Thank you, Father," I said with genuine gratitude, "thank you for what you've done for us today."  
  
The man simply nodded, and I walked over to him as he stood with Nadir. "Please," I said, pulling my wallet out of my inner coat pocket, "please accept a small donation to the church." I pulled out a large roll of bank notes and handed them to the confused man. He looked down in awe at the large amount of money - it must have been about a thousand francs - I had just thrust upon him.  
  
"Thank you," he said dumbly, "Thank you. I'm glad I could be of service."  
  
Nadir grabbed the man by the arm, and they silently left the small house together. Turning back to Christine, I realized that we were alone, at long last.  
  
To be continued. . . 


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own Phantom of the Opera. Someday, perhaps, I will, but until then I am making no profit from this.  
  
Author's Note: Contrary to the beliefs of a certain phan who shall go unnamed ::looks at Estella:: I really don't want to denigrate this phanphic with a smutty chapter here. I've kept it fairly clean, because I really don't think this is the proper vehicle for smut. That said, here's chapter 15! Much love and many thanks to my reviewers; keep up the good work people! :)  
  
  
  
*Raoul's POV*  
  
I had never noticed it before, but the streets of Paris were a cold and unforgiving place. Still, I fled deeper into the dark side of the city: the place most aristocrats speak of rarely and then only in hushed, mocking tones. The place was frightful even in the light of midday, ragged little waifs running about with their dirty faces, broken women selling themselves soullessly on street corners, shattered windows looking out with terrible consternation to the world that had let them be ruined so insensitively. Somehow, it did not bother me in the least.  
  
Somehow, I felt at home in this haven of the condemned.  
  
My life was wildly out of control; I knew that plainly, yet I clung to the hope that had drug me from my home. I knew that if I were to ever see Christine again, I would have to do it on my own accord. I doubted strongly that I was a match for her Phantom, but, then again, I always had my gun.  
  
It was a gentleman's art, shooting was, or at least so my brother always said. He would take me out into the woods on certain fine summer mornings, and we would hunt small game as he taught me about life, love and everything that fell in between. I felt an eternity removed from my memories, it was as if Raoul de Chagny was dead, and I had simply taken his place in a dreary, restless world.  
  
I pulled my coat tightly around me, I suddenly felt chilled even as the sun shone upon me and the buildings blocked the breeze. It took me a long moment to realize that the coldness was radiating from within and not from without. I felt numbed; I had lost my soul, and I had not even realized it was happening to me.  
  
I passed by a storefront, and I paused before the window. I did not know the reflection staring back at me. I knew myself as a man who loved Christine enough to die for her happiness.  
  
I saw myself suddenly as a man willing to kill for his own .  
  
My hair was wild and unkempt, my eyes lifeless and cold. My clothes were still in the best of sorts, but the man within them looked poor in the most tragic of ways. I walked away from the glass, dejected and disillusioned.  
  
I found an alleyway that had some lighting, and I slithered into it. I sank down against a dingy brick wall, grasping my head in my hands. I could not, would not, go back. Instead, I would remain in the city of the damned until the streets killed me, or turned me into someone beyond all reason and morality.  
  
With resignation, I accepted my fate.  
  
  
  
*Christine's POV*  
  
I got up from the couch and walked over to Erik.  
  
My husband, Erik. Oh, that sounded marvelous to me, the word cementing my dreams to my fate. I slipped my arms stealthily around his waist, and he embraced me back with all his strength. I felt so warm, so safe, in that moment that it was impossible for me to belief that there was anything but joy and love in the world. "Mon amour," I whispered softly, laying my head against his chest so that I could hear his heartbeat, "my husband."  
  
He softly kissed the top of my head, and in a voice so clouded with emotion I barely recognized it, he whispered, "My angel; my wife."  
  
I turned my head upwards, and I found myself, instantaneously caught up in the most passionate kiss I had ever known; it was as if he was desperately trying to show me how strongly he felt in that one, unbelievably powerful gesture. When finally he broke the kiss, he whispered, "We shall leave this place when darkness comes, Christine. Nadir has found us a safe place in the summer home of an old friend of his. Yes, we shall go, and we shall leave all the ghastly business of the past behind us."  
  
"Good," I said ardently, taking his face in my hands, and pulling off the mask he had put on for the sake of the priest, "that gives us the whole rest of the day to ourselves."  
  
"Indeed," he said with a smile, picking me up like a child in his arms, "we are truly alone at long last."  
  
"Oh, but Erik," I sighed happily as he carried me across the threshold of our borrowed room, "don't you understand that neither of us shall ever be alone again?"  
  
"I do," he whispered in my ear as he shut the door behind him, "and you will never know how grateful I am to you for making my dreams so wonderfully real."  
  
I kissed him softly, letting my actions respond to his words. He pulled me tightly to him as if he would never let me go, which, of course, I knew was more than an illusion on my part.  
  
I knew he would never let our love die, and it was in that moment, that indelible moment, that I became truly his, and he became truly mine forever.  
  
To be continued. . .(and soon!) 


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera, but if I did, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction, now would I? Alas, this shall have to do. . .:)  
  
Author's Notes: I am quite eager to finish this phanphic so that I can spend more time on 'Where There Is Love. . .', the Seuss phanphic and 'Life Outside the Phantom's Shadow.' I believe that including this update, there *should* be five more chapters. I make no promises, however, as far as updates and timing are concerned. Much love and many thanks to my reviewers (you guys are awesome! :) and I hope you all enjoy Chapter 16!  
  
Feedback: Come on, review. . .you know you want to. . . :)  
  
  
  
*Christine's POV*  
  
Evening came softly, an affront to my senses. The light slowly dimmed in our little room, the sun shining less vibrantly through the narrow leaded windows. The many colors of the sunset came trickling through in its stead, casting a beautiful rainbow over everything in our content corner of the Earth.  
  
I was half asleep, but even in that murky state I knew our time of blissful rest was nearing an end. I didn't want to admit that, though, and I was quite sure Erik was asleep. I lay in his arms, satisfied to stay silent and let him dream if it meant that I could stay with him like this for a little while longer.  
  
Certainly, I knew that our marriage would be full of such sweet moments. This was the first, however, and I never wanted to see it end.  
  
He spoke suddenly, disproving my belief that he was sleeping with a few simple words, "It is time, my love; we must go now."  
  
Any other time, I would have loved to hear him speak; his voice is still magical to me, its beauty still indescribable. At that moment, all I could do was sigh, "Oh, but Erik, I don't want to get up!"  
  
He laughed, and the sound made me smile, "My dear," he said tenderly, "any other time I would be more than happy to indulge you in this matter, but tonight, we must start the journey to our new home."  
  
'Our new home': it sounded wonderful, the mere thought of it sent chills down my spine. I imagined it like some sweet dream; a picket fence, a sweeping front porch. I knew that that was a lot to hope for under our unique circumstances, but, then again, all I really needed was Erik. Any space I shared with him quickly became a home; we had just proven that well enough in our tiny borrowed room.  
  
"I know," I finally conceded, "you're right."  
  
We got up, and prepared for our trip as quickly as possible. Erik seemed to sense my slight apprehension, and as I looked out the window into the night sky, he asked, "Are you sorry to be leaving Paris, Christine?"  
  
"Well," I mused, "yes and no. I will certainly miss the happy times, and the beautiful sights, but I know I'm taking the best part of this city with me."  
  
He smiled graciously and kissed my cheek. He began to speak with a surprisingly humble air, "I am, too, you know. I shall never miss Paris, it is just a city of steel and stone. You, however, are what shall always be truly important; you are the center of my world, so to speak. I love you so much, Christine."  
  
"I love you, too," I said as an idea struck me, "Erik?"  
  
"Yes?" He answered without delay.  
  
"Can we make one stop before we leave Paris? There is one place I would like to see one last time," I asked, making my most adorable and helpless expression. I knew he would be completely unable to deny me anything when I asked like that.  
  
"Of course," He said indulgently, "Where is it that you wish to go?"  
  
"To the park," I said, "the one where you proposed. I think it would be proper to visit it again now that we are wed; that place has been rather good to us."  
  
"Indeed," he said quietly. He looked genuinely touched, and he quickly put on his cloak. He gingerly wrapped mine around my shoulders and extended an arm that I readily took. "For now," he said, as we walked out of the room, "We must simply say our goodbyes to Nadir. He has been rather good to us of late."  
  
Nadir was standing stoically by the door, apparently awaiting us. He extended his hand silently to Erik, who shook it graciously. To me, the Persian offered a deep bow, and as he stood up straight, he said, "Live well my friends; you shall always be welcome here."  
  
Erik nodded, and replied, "Thank you, Daroga. If ever you need anything, you know where to find me." The Persian shook his head, and Erik and I walked to the door.  
  
"Adieu," I said as Erik pulled me to the carriage that awaited us, "adieu."  
  
*Raoul's POV*  
  
The alleyways could only not hold my fancy for long, and as the day drew out, dreadful hour upon dreadful hour, I was beginning to realize that my life was bereft of meaning. I was a Vicomte, an aristocrat, a man of power, yet I felt as if I had no power at all.  
  
It felt as if something greater, something terrible, was pulling the strings and I was but a puppet.  
  
There was a great sum of money in my wallet, I still had several rings and small trinkets of some value; I was in no danger of starving or dying of privation. It seemed, however, that the best of me was already dead - that the best of me was already dead.  
  
Yes, yes it was true; I had killed Raoul de Chagny.  
  
I began walking faster, fighting the urge to run. From what I was fleeing, I did not know. Memories, perhaps; perchance I was running from society.  
  
Most likely, however, I was running from myself.  
  
I stopped my frenzied flight when I reached the end of the slums. Instead, I found myself in a quaint, but almost abandoned, neighborhood. I stopped dead in my tracks when I found myself before a large, wonderfully exotic park. It beckoned to me, it called me softly as I stood before it. It offered to hide me, to give me a safe and glorious place to rediscover the Raoul I once was. Eagerly, I entered, and awaited catharsis.  
  
Eagerly, I awaited the moment when I would be myself again; pure again.  
  
*To be continued. . .* 


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera. . .yet! (Hey, a girl can always dream, can't she?) :)  
  
Author's Note: I know, I know; I should be punjabbed for forcing you, my dear readers to suffer this delay. Alas, I try! Here, with my deepest apologies for my 'dragging this out', is Chapter 17. The Raoul's POV part is deliberately strange; I am trying to show his final plunge into madness. Many thanks and much love to those who have reviewed, and I hope everyone enjoys Chapter 17!  
  
Feedback: You know you want to review!  
  
  
  
*Raoul's POV*  
  
It was heavenly, this civilized, glorious utopia in the middle of my unending nightmare. It was like an oasis - it was an oasis - a place where the thirsty could glut their souls on thought and reflection and come to terms with themselves and the world in which they were condemned to live.  
  
Thirsty; yes, I was quite thirsty. My spirit was begging for relief, my soul was screaming out in the night for some recognition, any slight acknowledgement: anything, anything. . .  
  
Perhaps it had been an illusion; a terrible fantasy caused by an overactive imagination. Yes, maybe my oasis was all that was truly real. There was no blood on my hands, no darkness. . .I was still Raoul, still Christine's Raoul. . .  
  
No, no, no! I shook my head violently, but the thought of her would not go away. In my mind, she plagued me; she sang and she danced to music I couldn't hear, she floated and she called to me: she was always beseeching me, imploring me, always. . .  
  
Enough! I had to let her go, I had to move on. I could not exist forever on memories, however sweet, alone. I knew that there was only way out: yes, yes it was the only way. .  
  
I could not do it; I could take no more.  
  
I could not live without her. I would not. . .  
  
I sat down on a low stone bench. Trembling, my fingers searched blindly for the gun. I soon felt the smooth steel, coldly comforting and totally understanding. I knew exactly what I had to do. . .  
  
My eyes closed, I concentrated on my final moment. I concentrated on. . .voices?  
  
Happy voices, almost familiar: distant, but approaching. Slowly I tightened my grip on the weapon and I stood to face those who would so brazenly and callously intrude on such a private moment. Pure ignorance - such fools - they caused me great anger, inexplicable anger. . .  
  
And, suddenly, I was once more blinded by the rage I could not deny.  
  
  
  
*Erik's POV*  
  
We arrived at the park near midnight; it was pitch black save the lamps that lit the path. Christine was luminous, she was beaming and laughing and clutching my arm as though she would never let it go. So long I had dreamed of this moment, and yet I had never even dared to dream it would come to pass.  
  
"Erik," she said, as we walked towards the spot of my proposal, "I shall never forget this place. We can leave Paris forever, and somehow, part of me will always be here."  
  
I nodded understandingly. "I feel the same way, cherie," I said simply.  
  
"Ah, but I am glad we are leaving," she sighed, leaning against me as we walked, "I am glad it is just going to be you and me from now on. I am glad we shall finally have a place of our own."  
  
I smiled. Teasingly, I said, "Nadir promised us no palace, you know."  
  
"He didn't have to," she said softly, warmly, "we don't need a palace to be happy."  
  
I could feel my heart swell and I wrapped an arm tightly around her, "Yes, but if I could, I would give you the entire world. I will build you a grand palace, the greatest the world shall ever know, if you want one. You need only ask; a single world and I will give you anything you desire. I will gladly give you everything I have if it will make you smile."  
  
"I don't want you to, Erik," she whispered, "I just want you."  
  
I was about to speak when I heard motion; there was someone stalking us in the bushes. I stopped, and saw a rather large figure among the shadows, Christine looked up at me nervously, "Erik?"  
  
"My love, you must stay behind me," I said urgently, stepping quickly in front of her, "and be prepared to run back to the carriage in a moment if I ask you to. You must trust me now, Christine."  
  
"I do. . ." she said, before she was interrupted by the imposing shadow.  
  
"Christine?"  
  
*To be continued*. . .I am very, very sorry about the cliffhanger! 


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera; I am making no money from this.  
  
Point of Information: The rest of the story is from Christine's POV, including the epilogue. Therefore, I am not going to specify POV anymore inside the chapters.  
  
Author's Note: I am writing as quickly as possible. PLEASE don't throw glass tables, DRD, I beg of you. I am really happy you love the story, but throwing expensive, beautiful glass tables is not healthy behavior (this coming from someone who just ordered Chinese at 9PM!). That being said, much love and many thanks to my reviewers, and I hope everyone enjoys Chapter 18!  
  
Feedback: You know you want to review!  
  
  
  
When Raoul called my name from inside those deep silhouettes, I felt a lingering moment of shock. It seemed to me that everything that could have possibly gone wrong for Erik, and to a lesser extent, me had gone wrong almost in spite of our happiness. I had to take a deep breath; I was completely overwhelmed. It was my wedding day, the day I was to journey to my new home with my husband, and yet we were still in perilous danger; still being tormented by the cruel hand of fate.  
  
Erik was protectively standing in front of me with one arm extended back to hold me close. I clung to him in a deep, dominating fear. I was afraid for my own life; but I was more worried about Erik's. He seemed every ounce an angel - my guardian angel - in that terrible moment. He was proving his devotion in the most profound way, he was clearly showing that his life was completely secondary to mine in his opinion. There he stood, ready to suffer - to die - so that I might carry on. Little did he know that I wanted no life without him.  
  
Little did he know I was willing to make the same sacrifice for him.  
  
Raoul emerged from the darkness as a shadow of his former self. He was thin, his hair was as wild as Medusa's in her prime. His clothes were still in decent shape, but he was pale and looked ill, and his eyes were dulled with a resentment and anger that chilled me to the bone. He stepped forward to confront Erik: defeated, abandoned fiancé facing beloved husband. I knew that he was capable of anything - he had sent those men who had nearly killed Erik, he had seen to the destruction of the house by the lake, he had made a martyr of little, innocent Ayesha. He would not hesitate to kill.  
  
Most likely, he was simply waiting for an opportunity.  
  
I watched in sickened awe as this man that I once loved sneered at us from his vantage of distant hate. Then I noticed the glint of metal in his hand, the snarled twist to his grin. . .  
  
He had a gun, and he was headed straight for us.  
  
"Christine," he sneered, "My darling little lotte, how you've changed! What would your father say if he saw you cavorting with phantoms in the middle of the night?"  
  
Erik stiffened as if he was going to seize upon Raoul and end this ordeal right there, gun or no gun. Quickly, I grabbed his wrist, and he restrained himself, if only for a moment.  
  
"Run, Christine, and wait for me," he said tensely, but with a clear confidence. Not for a moment averting his gaze from Raoul, he added, "I shall be along directly."  
  
I knew he was right, that I had to leave, but I still longed to support him and I begged, "But, my husband, I. . ."  
  
"Husband?" Raoul interrupted in a fury, "Husband!"  
  
"Go Christine, go now!" Erik exclaimed purposely, and without another word, I obeyed him, and began my flight. I ran clumsily down the path towards the carriage until I almost fell in my haste, and came to rest under the protective auspices of a weeping willow. In the distance I could hear a struggle, I could hear angry words and harsh sentiments flying freely in the cool night air. Hell had descended quickly on paradise, and it was making its presence felt. I grasped the trunk of the tree in my nervousness, and I closed my eyes tightly and tried not to hear - not to consider - the world that loomed around me.  
  
I was almost succeeding in my efforts when the walls came crashing down.  
  
A harsh sound echoed through the air, unmistakably and undeniably lethal.  
  
Gunshots; three in succession, and then screams: horrible, ghastly screams.  
  
I was frozen for a moment in the silence that followed, my mind blazing with a thousand excuses. Surely Erik was the stronger, more experienced man in these arenas. Yes, and Raoul was obviously worn down by recent events. And clearly, Erik could have easily seized the gun and used it for his own purposes. Yes, yes, it was all perfectly alright: it simply had to be. Or. . .  
  
Without exploring any other possibilities, I ran back towards Erik. It was so dark, and I strained to see before me, but I could not. I knew I could very well be flying blindly into the arms of death.  
  
But, if Erik was gone, that hardly vexed me.  
  
I continued to run until I collided with something solid and heavy upon the ground. It was soft, I reached down, and I could feel that it was a body. Steeling myself, I turned it over to see Raoul's lifeless face staring up at me.  
  
It struck me as odd that I didn't feel any emotions for him as I stared back. Perhaps I was in shock. Yes, I was in shock, because if the gun had fired three times. . .  
  
"Erik?" I called out suddenly, desperately, as I stood up and turning all around in my search, "Erik!"  
  
There was a brief pause before the weak reply came, "Christine. . ."  
  
  
  
*To be Continued* 


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom; isn't it shocking?  
  
Author's Note: Sorry about the slight delay; I thought it prudent to do my English and Politics homework. I have nothing of great note to say, except that this is the second to last chapter, and you must read it carefully. I am being ambiguous for a reason, but if I say anymore I'll give my finale away. . . :) Much love and many thanks to my very, very animated reviewers!  
  
Feedback: You know you want to review!  
  
  
  
His voice carried to me softly from under a nearby tree and I ran towards it without hesitation. He was sitting up against the tree trunk; his breathing was heavy and labored as he ended a trembling hand up towards me. I fell to my knees before him, seizing his hand and pressing it into mine. There was blood on the ground, on his jacket. . .  
  
There was blood everywhere, and this time, I did not know if my angel's wings could be mended.  
  
He looked at me sadly, and he began to speak with a voice that lacked almost every trace of the music I so loved, "I'm sorry, Christine. . ."  
  
"For what?" I asked softly, raising my free hand to his face.  
  
He looked up with an incredulity that seemed oddly out of place. Hastily, he began to rationalize, "I had to kill him, Christine. I never intended. . ."  
  
"You never intended for this to happen: you have nothing to be sorry for," I interrupted reassuringly before my mind turned to the more pressing, plaguing questions that begged asking, "Dear God, Erik, what did he do to you?"  
  
He took a few difficult, onerous breaths, and said, "He shot me, Christine. Once in the left shoulder, and once in the stomach, to be precise. . ."  
  
"Oh God," I muttered helplessly, desperately, "Erik, what do I do? Tell me what to do, there must be something. . ."  
  
His hand squeezed mine, and he whispered, "Just stay with me; when you are with me, all is right in the world. You'll never know how much I love you. . ."  
  
"And that's why you can't leave me!" I exclaimed, pulling him gently into my arms, "Please, fight this, Erik. You must, you simply must. . ."  
  
"Christine," he interrupted despondently, "I don't want to leave you; I will fight as hard as I can to stay with you, but my darling, death is a persistent fellow, and he doesn't take no for an answer when. . ."  
  
"No!" I interrupted forcefully, my words tumbling out in a mad rush, "You aren't going to die, you simply can't die: I won't allow it! I shall send the carriage driver to fetch a doctor, yes. . it isn't too late my love, it isn't too late. . ."  
  
"If you must," he bade wearily, "go quickly, and return to me with all possible haste. Otherwise, we may not have time. . ."  
  
"Time?" I interjected determinedly as I stood, "There shall always be more time, Erik!"  
  
I made my way quickly to the carriage that still awaited us in the street, waiting to take us onward to our new home. I dispatched the driver with the understanding he was to proceed with all possible alacrity, and that whatever he wished as his reward for his services would be rendered without question. He raced off into the night, and I was quickly back at Erik's side.  
  
"See, my love," I said, sitting beside him and embracing him once more, "see? The doctor shall arrive shortly and he will surely fix everything. . ."  
  
"Angel," he said with an aloof tone that worried me immensely, "it is growing colder, is it not?"  
  
"Erik. . ." I said warningly, "you can't leave me now. You can't give in, you must try, you must. . ."  
  
"You know I love you, yes, you must know that," he said dreamily, detached and distant.  
  
"I do, and I love you," I said, burying my face into his shoulder. A silent eternity passed between us before the doctor finally arrived, and ushered me away as he began his ministrations. There was a look of restrained horror on his face as he tended to the wounds that I had dared not see. He was so intent that I doubt he noticed the body of the Vicomte that lay cold and languid behind him. Quickly, he ushered me away, and said, "There must be some place we can take him, somewhere I can tend to him."  
  
Not knowing what else to do, I said, "Yes, we can take him to the home of a friend, a Persian who lives in the Rue de Rivoli."  
  
The doctor nodded, and I helped him carry Erik back to the carriage before we spirited Erik of towards his last chance at life.  
  
When we arrived at Nadir's, the tired daroga answered the door and let us in without explanation. The doctor began his work in the bedroom, and I remember Nadir offering some mollified words of comfort before I lost consciousness.  
  
*To be continued. . .and soon!* Oh, I am terrible with these cliffhangers. . . 


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera, but after nineteen chapters, I think you all knew that somehow. :)  
  
Author's Note: Well, this is it. Despite any claims I may have made prior, the POV has switched to an omniscient third person; sorry. You can at least be sure that there is no cliffhanger waiting at the end of this chapter, and I promise to answer all the questions I have raised of late. Much love and many, many thanks to my reviewers, and I hope you all enjoy this.  
  
Feedback: You know you want to review!  
  
  
  
~Epilogue: Five Years Later. . .~  
  
  
  
The small apartment on Marchmont Street was full of laughter, the sweet laughter of a happy child. She was just four, this charming sprite, and yet she already showed the marks of great beauty and intelligence. Her long blonde hair cascaded down in soft waves, her deep cerulean eyes shown brightly and, set against her pale, creamy skin, gave her a perfectly angelic countenance. It seemed as though her Mother was telling the truth when she told her admirers that she was raising a miracle.  
  
The real magic was inside the child; a musical prodigy, she learned the intricacies of song at an astounding pace. On her fourth birthday, she was playing Mozart nearly flawlessly. Already, it was being whispered that she would outmatch the iconic composer in skill by her fifth. For her part, however, she remained innocently oblivious. The applause, the praise, the adoration; none of it mattered to her, she was simply Emily Estella Daae, and she needed nothing more than her Mother's love to make her happy.  
  
However, it hadn't always been happy in her small, comfortable home. There were many nights when her Mother's mood had changed abruptly; nights when tears would flow and the proud young woman who Emily saw as a goddess would seem nothing more than a quivering child herself. Usually, the depression would descend as Emily began to play at the upright piano squeezed into a corner of the cluttered, if cozy, sitting room. At first, Emily would try to console her, her tiny lips forming a pout as she begged her Mother to smile once more. It never worked; her Mother would simply pull her into her arms as she continued to weep, rocking her gently to some unheard melody.  
  
The next morning, the smiles would return like clockwork, and Emily would always forget the tears. . .  
  
Her Mother was simply too beautiful when she smiled.  
  
  
  
Her Mother, Christine, as her friends called her, was a brilliant study in contrasts. She loved her daughter with a fierce, unwavering devotion that almost bordered on obsession. She went to the ends of the Earth to make her daughter smile, the small apartment was always filled with toys and whatever musical devices the child's curiosity embraced. With her child, she seemed so happy, so protective - it was as if she had nothing else in her world. Yet, there were many secrets hidden in her heart, she carried herself with an aura of dull pain that never quite faded. She always seemed alone crowds, it seemed as if she was wandering the streets of London aimlessly, even when she was going forward with intent. She seemed lost, almost incomplete, clinging to her daughter as her last like to the world. But, then she would sing. . .  
  
Her voice was a shadow of Heaven itself; she sang with all the emotion she dared not express otherwise. It often made quite the enchanting scene, daughter playing dutifully as mother sang in her heart-wrenching soprano. When Christine sang, she seemed fulfilled, as if she had found what was missing and it filled her with a singular confidence. When she fell silent, however, she instantly became listless once more. A tragic cycle, everyone who truly knew her observed, but one that simply seemed unbreakable; a sad fact of life, and nothing more.  
  
Emily lived blissfully in the safety of her Mother's shadow for a very long time; unquestioning, unknowing and unburdened. Until, one day, she observed something that disturbed her.  
  
Something that made her feel confused and alone.  
  
Her friends all had a mother and a father, two parents who loved them instead of one. Emily would go to their homes, see the happiness and affection, the happiness and she was filled with an intense jealousy. It seemed all at once unfair to her that she and her Mother had been denied that bliss, and even if her Mother made her feel loved, she longed to have a Father of her own. Someone to sing her to sleep, and chase the monsters out from under her bed. Yes, she wished for a father; but unlike the fairy tales her Mother told her, no fairy godmother came to answer her unspoken prayers.  
  
It seemed unfair, and her curiosity consumed her; she needed to know why her home was different, why her Mother was so prone to tears and anguish. She needed to know the many secrets that her mother had long since carried in her heart. When she could take it no more, she came to her Mother in the middle of the night, tears in her eyes and a love worn stuffed animal clutched under her arm. "Maman," she sobbed, "I had a bad dream, please wake up. . .Maman?"  
  
"Hush," Christine said gently, pulling her child into her arms, "it's alright now, it will all be alright now. Monsters can't follow you into the real world, in fact. . ."  
  
"Maman," she interrupted, "I did not dream of monsters; I dreamt of a man. He sang to me, and when he sang, you sang too, but you weren't there, Maman, you weren't there!"  
  
Christine turned pale as her daughter spoke, she looked up at the ceiling and sighed, "Emily. . ."  
  
"Maman, why don't I have a Papa like everyone else?" She asked, looking up at her mother in wide-eyed naivety.  
  
Christine stared down in profound anguish, knowing that the moment of truth she had dreaded for five years had finally arrived. "You have a father, my child, a wonderful father," she began with tremulous uncertainty, "but he is with the angels now; he was taken from us before you were born."  
  
"Who took him Maman? That was very unfair!" Emily pouted in childish outrage. Christine closed her eyes tightly.  
  
"It was very unfair," Christine said with conviction, "but, you must not think of him in that way, my child. He was a wonderful man and he is watching over us yet and I know he's very proud of you."  
  
Emily smiled, and hugged her mother impulsively, settling snuggly in her lap. "Tell me more about Papa," she commanded inquisitively.  
  
"He was a great man, a brilliant man. He had an angel's voice even before he was taken to Heaven to be with the angels. His music was powerful, it almost felt alive; just like yours will be someday. He was a scientist, too, a musician, a composer, a scholar. . .he was as perfect as any human, saving you, of course, ma petite."  
  
Emily's cheeks flushed at the compliment, even as she nodded understandingly. "sometimes, I can feel him with us," Christine continued suddenly, "when I sing and you play; it's almost as if he is providing the counterpoint. He shall always be with you, my child, always."  
  
Emily smiled; she no longer felt jealous or upset. Instead, she was proud of her unique family. The other girls might have happy families, but they would never have a beautiful singer Maman and a guardian angel for a Papa. Life would go on from that moment, sweeter than it had before, and never again would Emily's music be lost in a bleak world. Now, and forever, there would always be a light in the darkness.  
  
  
  
~Fin~ 


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